


Dangerous

by HereToWrite



Category: The A-Team (TV), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Actually yeah PTSD is probably right, Also everybody needs a hug, Also quick hints towards Murdock’s time in the CIA because I like those, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Murdock’s had a rough life and it shows, PTSD, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereToWrite/pseuds/HereToWrite
Summary: They forget sometimes, amidst the jokes and the teddy bears and the pet bugs, that Murdock’s just as dangerous as the rest of them. He had laughed more than they had and caught crazy in the war, but it had still been war. He’d fought. Suffered. Survived. And Face is currently having that reality dumped over him like a bucket of cold water.Or, Murdock’s been captured and things have spiraled by the time Face finds him
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> What’s this? An A-Team fic that isn’t an AU? Surprise!

They forget sometimes, amidst the jokes and the teddy bears and the pet bugs, that Murdock’s just as dangerous as the rest of them. He had laughed more than they had and caught crazy in the war, but it had still been war. He’d fought. Suffered.  _ Survived.  _ And Face is currently having that reality dumped over him like a bucket of cold water.

“Murdock,” he says slowly, lowering his gun. “Put the gun down.”

The taller man doesn’t move. His arm doesn’t waver and the hard look in his eyes doesn’t diminish. Face keeps looking into them anyway, because that’s better than glancing at the two unmoving bodies in the room. 

“Murdock,” he tries again. “It’s me, it’s Face. You know Templeton Peck.”

Murdock’s arm moves down slightly, a look of confusion settling onto his face. The movement causes the handcuff around his wrist to jingle, the other end swinging in the air ominously. It’s still locked tight and Face tries not to think about that too much. 

“That’s it,” Face says slowly, his voice portraying a calm he most certainly doesn’t feel on the inside. “It’s over, it’s okay.” Which it wasn’t, but he’d never been an honest man. “You’re going to be fine.”

He risks a step forward and immediately Murdock’s arm springs back up, the gun leveling at him. All confusion vanishing into a hard anger.

Face freezes, his breath catching.

“Murdock—”

“Don’t move,” the man hisses over him. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

A million words Father O’Malley most certainly wouldn’t have approved of run through Face’s head, but he pushes asides the panic and pulls on smile #12. Harmless and friendly. All doe-eyes and soft words.

“Okay look I’m not moving,” he puts his hands out in a placating gesture and breathes out his worries. It’s like talking to a frightened dog, he reasons, liable to bite at any moment. Only instead of teeth it’s a handgun and instead of a dog it’s his best friend. He wonders if Murdock can also smell fear. He hopes not. 

“Murdock,” Face continues. “Do you know where you are?”

No response, just that glare. Distant. Dark. Deadly.  _ Dangerous.  _

“You’re in a warehouse just outside of Los Angeles, California.” He can hear footsteps coming up the hallway and Face knows he has about 30 seconds to get that gun out of Murdock’s hand or somebody’s going to get shot. Probably him. “You were sent in undercover as a pilot for a couple of smugglers, you were outed by our client, remember? You’ve been missing for just under 48 hours, but we found you. We’re here to get you out.” 

Nothing.

20 seconds.

“You’re not in Nam and you’re not in danger anymore.”

10 seconds.

“It’s  _ me,  _ it’s Temp.”

5 seconds.

4.

3.

2.

“Face?”

It’s amazing how one word can make you want to laugh and cry all at once.

“Yeah that’s right buddy, why don’t you put the gun down.”

He can hear someone skid through the doorway behind him, but he doesn’t look. Doesn’t let his eyes leave Murdock’s.

“The gun?” The pilot sounds dazed, unsure.

By this point Face has moved two steps forward and if it came to it he’s reasonably sure he could tackle Murdock for the gun. He’s also reasonably sure that he won’t have to. He watches as Murdock’s eyes fall to the gun in his hand and then rise back up to look at Face his brow furrowing. The conman thinks that in any other situation the confusion on the pilot’s face would be comical, but right now it’s just terrifying. 

“Face?” Murdock says again and then like a puppet with its strings cut the gun falls to the ground and the pilot right after it.

Face is there in moments, pausing only to kick the abandoned gun away, before rolling Murdock over to catalogue the damage. 

His free wrist is bleeding, and his thumb’s twisted oddly, which explains the cuff, and that plus the lovely array of bruises up and down his torso cause Face’s blood to boil, but Murdock’s still breathing. Is still alive and that’s enough for now. 

Movement to his right and Face looks up to see Hannibal standing over them. A frown playing on his lips.

“The others?” Face asks.

“Two shots, one through the heart and the other through the gut.”

Dead. That’s what he meant. Face just nods grimly. Murdock won’t remember. He can’t decide if that’s for the best or not. Hannibal is watching him now. Brow furrowed. Cigar moving as he chews it. A nervous tic that he never quite kicked. 

“The bodies are cold,” Hannibal continues. “How long do you think he’s been standing here waiting?” 

Face looks away. Shrugs. Tries not to think about how the doors he’d come through had been locked from the outside. Tries not to remember how quickly Murdock had leveled the gun at him. 

“Face has this happened before?”

Face stiffens. 

“You can’t tell him,” his voice barely a whisper, but there’s something beneath those words. A threat maybe? An empty one no doubt, practically powerless, but there. “You _ can’t _ .” 

“Face.” It’s an order now. One that demands truth and Face obeys it, but if the answer had been something different he would’ve lied.

“Not since Vietnam,” he doesn’t bother to look back at Hannibal as he gathers Murdock up into his arms. Face hesitates then continues. “I think he panics, and something kicks in when he’s pushed too far. Something left over from before he was even with us.” There’s glaring governmental sized holes in Murdock’s records that not even Face has been able to find, and he thinks that they link to the holes in his friend’s sanity. “He never remembers. Or if he does, he never admits it.”

“Face this can’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Face scowls. “He’s fine.”

“He’s dangerous.” 

Face barks out a laugh, it’s ugly, empty, but mostly it’s just tired. “We’re all dangerous Hannibal.”

“Lieutenant he murdered two men.”

He pulls Murdock a little closer at that, eyes still studying the man. He looks small. No man as tall as the pilot had any right to look that way, but Murdock does.

Small, pale, and lifeless. 

“He was just trying to survive,” he whispers. That’s all any of them were trying to do at this point. 

Hannibal lets out a hum that lives in the grey area between agreement and disregard as Face struggles to his feet, pulling Murdock up with him. He clutches the unconscious man tightly, then in a brief rush of panic slides a hand around his wrist, feels the frantic heartbeat and relaxes. It’s only then that he allows himself to look back at Hannibal. 

The older man is gazing at Murdock the same way he does clients. Calculating. Debating. Deciding. An analytical moment where he decides whether or not they’re trustworthy. Whether or not they’re worth the risk of getting caught by the military police that’s always hot on their tail. Then he can see the gears rolling around in the older man’s hand. Clanging and beating out the pros and cons of having a legally insane man as their pilot. 

And Face gets it. He really does. This whole ordeal adds a whole other layer to Murdock’s unpredictability and it’s a dangerous layer, but the anger still swells in his chest. Because Murdock is worth it. He’s always worth it. The pros will always outweigh the cons and he’d like to see Hannibal say otherwise.

Face decides then that it’s time to walk away.

There’s a pause and Hannibal follows.

“We’ll torch the place,” Hannibal says. Which had always been the plan. Just now it was also going to cover up bodies as well as drugs.

Face nods, shifting Murdock in his arms.

“Did BA already set the charges?”

“He should be waiting in the van. We weren’t sure what condition Murdock was going to be in and I thought it’d be best to be ready.”

“Good. Hannibal, you can’t—”

“I won’t tell him Face.” 

It’s as good of a ‘Murdock’s staying on the team’ as any and the last bit of tension eases out of the conman’s shoulders. His grip on Murdock loosens. 

“Thanks.”

Hannibal doesn’t respond, and they continue in silence until they get to the van.

“Hurry up and get in here!” BA yells. “The police scanner said that cops got a tip and are on their way!”

Face transfers Murdock awkwardly onto the bench seat of the van and then jumps in, sliding the door shut behind him.

“He okay?” BA grunts, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror, giving away his concern.

“He’ll be fine Sergeant,” Hannibal answers. “Just get us to a hospital.”

BA nods and they’re off.

As they drive away in search of a hospital that won’t ask questions and won’t demand answers Face watches the building behind them. Seconds tick by before there’s a clash and the warehouse explodes into flames. It shouldn’t make him relax, but it does. The explosion makes the mission seem final. It makes it seem over.

\---

Murdock wakes up two days later and he wakes up as smiles and jokes and teddy bears.

He doesn’t remember. Oh, he remembers being captured, remembers being hurt, because the world is cruel, but then there’s a blank.

“It’s like when you open the door to a red room, before the picture’s done developing!” Murdock says happily, chewing away on ice chips. “I only got to see the image for a second and then poof! Gone!”

He throws his hands out, eyes dancing as the ice chips leave his cup and land on BA. Who in turn lets out a shout of anger and scowls, leaping up. They all dutifully ignore him. 

“That’s okay son,” Hannibal says. “There’s not much to report.”

Murdock nods, but he doesn’t quiet look convinced.

“Did I at least help take out some bad guys? I’d hate to think I was unhelpful.”

Face tries not to think about the two bodies in the warehouse as he pulls smile #30 onto his face—confident, easy-going—and lets out an airy laugh, “You did great man. Don’t worry about it.”

Murdock relaxes, “Oh good.” He shoves another handful of ice chips into his mouth and crunches.

“Well buddy,” he pats Murdock’s knee awkwardly. “You get some rest. Tomorrow we gotta cart you back to the VA.”

Murdock raises his eyebrows, gesturing to himself with the cup, “And how are you gonna explain all this away?” 

“You were injured during the studies you volunteered for.”

“Wasn’t the study on how animals could be used to relieve stress? Like you know, dogs? Or maybe the occasional loveable raccoon.”

“You tripped over one.”

“The dog or the raccoon?”

“The dog.”

“Ah, clumsy me,” Murdock accepts. “This is why I keep Billy around. I’ve never tripped over him.”

“You never trip over him, because he don’t exist,” BA growls out.

“He just doesn’t like you,” Murdock smiles. “That’s why you’ve never seen him, he hides when you come into the room.”

“No, he don’t, fool. I’ve seen you walkin’ him when I’m around.”

Murdock’s face split into an enormous smile, “So you have seen him!”

“That ain’t what I meant,” BA scowls.

“But it’s what you said!”

Face lets the familiarity of the argument wash over him and relaxes against his seat. Tomorrow there’ll be new issues and new dangers, but for now they’re okay.

He looks over as Hannibal chuckles and tells BA that no he can’t hit the injured pilot and no Murdock, you can’t keep the heart rate monitor. 

He smiles, yeah, they’ll be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve actually had this story in the works for a while now and could never quite get a satisfying ending? If I’m honest I’m still not crazy about it? But well I decide to post it anyways, because I’m tried of having it unfinished!
> 
> Hope y’all liked it! 
> 
> Also! This story was brought to you by me having to google how fast a dead body cools to make sure it fit into my timeframe! The answer, according to the first option from an Australian Museum, because I didn’t dare look further, is about 12 hours. Fun stuff. Use this information as you will. 
> 
> (Also #2, if y’all have any general A-Team prompts let me know I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing one-shots)


End file.
